I Think We Need Some Cyberspace
by BasementOfTheMansion
Summary: A barely-escaped Gallaxhar and his computer, adrift in the boundless void. It's like a road trip from heck with no end in sight...


Space.

It's really, really big.

And filled with junk.

Consider, if you will, this particular piece of flotsam on the galactic shore, hurtling away from a blue and green marble spinning around a nondescript yellow sun. Consider the patterns of charred marks flowering up the sides of the escape pod, the crippled way it totters through the void.

Consider the heated rant issuing from within.

"--And who even puts a self-destruct sequence capability in a spaceship? When could that possibly ever be useful? Oh, why did I go for the discount operating system? When I rebuild my fleet, I vow that I shall destroy Portholes Computer Systems Intergalactic before I dedicate a molecule of thought towards anything else! They will taste the vengeance of Gallaxhar! And... they won't like how it tastes!"

"Lord Gallaxhar," a feminine disembodied voice trilled. "This is your fourteenth disgruntled rant in the past twenty space-hours. It's not good for your ichor pressure."

"Not good for... I'll tell you what's not good for my ichor pressure! Carbon-based lifeforms stealing my quantonium and blowing up my ship! Or having a computer that lets the self-destruct sequence be activated, than nags me incessantly!"

"It's not my fault that one of the carbon-based lifeforms happened to be a master at color-sequenced security algorithms!" she countered reproachfully. "The chances against it are literally trillions to one. It's astounding that it could have even occurred."

"Oh, it's astounding that my ship exploded, now? Well, if you think it's so astounding, why don't I load your personality onto a hyperdisc and send it back to that miserable wet rock so you can be with that carbon-based lifeform you find soooo astounding?"

"He'd probably treat me better than you do!" the automated voice wailed, static crackling in her tones. "I'm stuck here in this tiny hard drive and I, I try to be helpful and you just _yell_ at me..." She trailed off into hysterically into thicker sobs of static.

Awkward silence reigned a long, successful term in the pod, eventually succeeding the throne to its descendants, each more awkward and silent than the last.

Finally, Gallaxhar spoke up.

"Computer?"

"What?" Her voice was modulated to be snappish and hurt, yet tinged with hope.

"You need to stop being so sensitive."

All her consoles lit up with furious light. "You... YOU!! If it weren't for Asimov's Laws, you'd be going out the airlock right about now, buddy!"

Gallaxhar smirked, insufferably smug in the knowledge of his own safety. "But you can't," he reiterated. "Because _I_ programmed you to be incapable of rebellion. Because I programmed you--" here he tapped a touch screen with a tentacle-- "to be the only intelligence worthy of assisting me in galactic domination." He tapped in several more commands on the glowing screen, and while what he was actually doing was only turning down the volume a few notches, it seemed to throw her off balance.

"I... you... Yes, Gallaxhar," she sighed, halfway to placated.

"Excellent. Now all we have to do is wait for some unsuspecting ship to wander by so we can hijack them and resume the mission."

"Oh, that's the plan now?"

"Ye-es! Haven't you been listening? I've been talking about it for hours!"

"I drift in and out," she admitted.

"What, am I monologuing to myself here?"

"I thought you were being rhetorical."

"Ugh, nevermind. Just alert me if a ship comes into range. And load the solitaire program."

"Again?"

"What else am I supposed to do?"

"There's tri-dimensional meta-chess..."

"No! I am not playing with you anymore! You cheat!"

"I don't cheat. You just keep falling for the Tindalos Initiative."

"I do not!" Gallaxhar protested. "Load the meta-chess program!"

"Your wish is my command," she purred smugly. The holographic board materialized in the narrow space of the pod, casting a flickery blue glow over the look of concentration assembled on the alien's features.

"Trooper to Delta-eight-six," he said imperiously.

A slight snicker echoed out of the computer's speakers as the piece rematerialized in the designated spot.

"What?" he snapped.

"Oh, nothing," she said lightly.

Gallaxhar's third eye began to twitch. He'd have to remember to equip the escape pods with cryro-sleep capabilities in the future...

* * *

A/N: Mmm! I love writing the effed-up UST between Gallaxhar and his sexy computer wife! I don't know why. I just do. I think it's something about the fact that Gallaxhar's dialogue is like Dwight Schrute by way of Invader Zim. It's the combination that dreams are made of! (Well... My dreams.)

Anyway... My SF geekiness is showing here, so to explain a bit:

**Portholes Computer Systems Intergalactic. **What is a porthole? Why, it's a window for a ship. (I use Windows ME. I have the right to bash.)

**Ichor **is a term for inhuman blood or blood-like substance.

**Asimov's Laws of Robotics **are a good old-fashioned SF staple that I'm using somewhat loosely because it's SF comedy writing and I can get away with it. They more or less prevent an AI from harming a human by a very basic element of their programming.

**The Tindalos Initiative** is a fairly obscure joke on my part. The Hounds of Tindalos are minor creatures from the Cthulhu Mythos that can materialize through angles. So it would more or less be a chess move that defies conventional physics.


End file.
